


You

by Grinner_H



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflower1343](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower1343/gifts).



I don't know the first thing about photography. 

I'm just bad with cameras, the kind of guy who makes all those rookie mistakes - wrong angles and blurred shots and fingers in lenses. 

I know nothing about the beauty of a still life and the meaning of black and white and every other color, but if you asked me about snapshots that mean a million words, I'd tell you about your tattered jeans and your wallet chain, that blindingly bright yellow t-shirt that's got _Legen - wait for it - dary!_ printed on its back in lime green. 

I don't know much about tight t-shirts and vintage jeans, but I _do_ know there's something wrong with that shirt; only, it never looks wrong on _you._

I'd tell you about the dye in your hair and that beautiful set of teeth when you give me those mouth-wide-open laughs. That crazy _whatever-the-hell-that-thing-is_ that you've got on your cellphone strap, your keychain, your desktop. 

I'd talk about the print of the camera strap on the back of your neck, the soft brown of your eyes that's warm like summer, that sparkles brighter than any diamond, and that makes me feel safer than the familiarity of my own skin. 

If you asked me about worn-out album pages and the pictures we'd laugh about, the ones we'd point at and go, _"I can't believe that..."_ or _"Hey, remember when...?"_ , I'd tell you about your ridiculous horror movie marathons and how you refused to stop with those Guy LaPointe impressions for three straight weeks.

And how I pretended to be annoyed, when really, I thought it was cute how diligently you practiced that preposterous accent, just 'cause you wanted to make me laugh. 

I would say, hey, remember when you talked me into running through Sion after closing hours, touching every tabletop just because we _could?_

Or, I can't believe you spent fifty-three minutes at that claw machine, trying to get me that crazy _whatever-the-hell-that-thing-is_ plushie because you thought it'd make a great fortieth birthday present. 

We'd reminisce about the time you attempted to build a model of the Bayon with ramen cups and potato chip bags. You weren't even drunk, then. 

Or the time you decided to watch _The Lord of The Rings_ upside down. You weren't drunk _then,_ either. 

But _I_ was. I've always been drunk on you, and never so clearheaded in my life.

If you asked me about the moments I'd record, rewind, pause, and play over and over again, I'd tell you about the way a yukata drapes over your limber frame, the scent of my cologne in your hair, and the unbelievably smooth skin on the inside of your left wrist that I just _can't_ stop kissing. 

I would tell you about your innocence and your deviousness, your unebbing compassion and your infallible _soul._

I'd tell you about your incurable obsession with junk food and horror flicks, bad fashion and freakishly disturbing mascots, and those two and a half weeks (okay, _months_ ) when I couldn't look at a mirror without thinking of swinging anchors and light bulb apples. 

I would speak about the spread of your arms beneath the fall of rain and snow and sunlight, the way you deliberately mess up lyrics to every song because it's funnier that way. 

And I'd never fail to remind you about the way you're unfailingly unafraid to be _yourself_ \- no explanations or excuses required.

You asked me once - feet in my lap and chocolate between your teeth - which part of my life I'd frame on a wall, so I could look at it for all eternity. 

It's _you,_ Akihito. Just you.


End file.
